


Better to Reign in Hell

by Chronicler



Series: Thramsay Pick ’n’ Mix [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sex Slavery, British English, British Slang, Captivity, Cock Rings, Collars, Dehumanization, Dom/sub, Drabble, Dysfunctional Relationships, Endearments, Fate & Destiny, First in a Drabble Collection, Flash Fic, Forced Prostitution, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Identity, M/M, Master/Slave, One True Pairing, Pansexual Character, Physical Abuse, Poor Theon, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronicler/pseuds/Chronicler
Summary: Ramsay Bolton is looking to buy a new toy. After all, they wear out and break so very easily. Looking over what's for sale at the warehouse, he finds a castoff that no one wants. The quivering remnants of a man. And he gives it a new name: Reek. Let the games begin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! Very disturbing content. Please read the tags. Yes I know what a sick fuck I am.
> 
> I edited ‘Nor Iron Bars a Cage’ a lot more if you wanna check it out.
> 
> Thank you to Matty for beta reading even though this isn’t their fandom. I always try add a little something to make it worth their while.
> 
> Feedback gratefully received.
> 
> I've re-edited all my Thramsay drabbles.
> 
> Title from Paradise Lost by John Milton. Quote from Lucifer, which seems apt for Ramsay: ‘Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.’

‘Don’t you have any more I can see?’ Ramsay asks, glancing around the massive warehouse. At the cages filled with people, naked, silent but for moans and pounding music from the scratchy radio in the background.

‘There has to be something in here you like, Bolton?’ Malko replies, the flickering florescent striplights overhead casting a sickly pallor over his dark skin, over his shaved head. But he’s taller than Ramsay, broader, looks like he could snap Ramsay in half if he had the guts to try.

Rapping on the bars by their side Malko says: ‘What about her?’ He lifts his chin, says, ‘You: what’s your name?’

‘Shae,’ the young woman says in an Eastern European accent Ramsay can’t place, not even covering herself. Stumbling to her feet from the concrete floor, she tries to pull her back straight, push forward her breasts, covered in dirt and bruises like the rest of her. Comes to stand at the bars, gripping them. ‘I’ll do it nice and slow, show you good time.’

Ramsay smirks at her. ‘Nah,’ he says, looks back at Malko. ‘She’s just fronting, wants out of here. I could find a slapper like her on any street corner. I din’t drive out here to the shit-end of nowhere for that. I come here for summat _special_.’

Malko gives an annoyed sigh, says ‘C’mon,’ sets off down the gap between the cages, the long thin corridor left empty and shadowed.

Lost voices yell as they pass, threats and pleas. ‘Let me out and I’ll do anything!’ a lithe young man calls.

‘I’ll fucking kill ya when I get outta here!’ a tall blonde screams as she pulls at the bars.

Ramsay laughs as he watches, the stench of piss and shit filling the air as a wiry girl tosses her bucket of waste at Malko.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ muscles bulging Malko grabs the bars. ‘I’ll be back later, make you _sorry_ , cunt.’

Still muttering he leads Ramsay to a door he unlocks, leads him into a back office, grabbing a towel off a wheeled chair and dabbing at his face, his jeans.

‘Look through there, we can bring anyting in you want,’ Malko says, accent London by way of Jamaica and getting thicker. He gestures towards a filing cabinet, the grey paint scratched. ‘You go through these slags so _quick,_ ’ he adds with a glinting smile.

Ramsay pulls a drawer open, starts riffling through it. Though pictures of people living their ordinary, boring lives. Dropping kids off at school, wearing smart suits to the office, casual as they go into supermarkets. There were no windows in the warehouse, and the window in here is boarded, rough planks of wood on the other side of the glass, the only light a bare bulb swaying overhead.

‘Get you whatever you want,’ Malko says again behind him. ‘You got the money we got the –’ and he keeps talking, giving his spiel, but Ramsay tunes him out. Hears sniffling.

Forgotten files clasped in his hand, he walks around the desk.

Behind it, kneeled on the floor, sitting back on his haunches beside the big padded chair, is a young man. Naked, each rib is clear through the thin parchment of his inked skin, every inch of it covered in bruises, cuts, scars. He rubs at his nose, goosepimples covering his arms in the chill, silver streaks in his sandy hair. A flash of pink as he licks his cracked lips.

Slowly, slowly, he twitches as he visibly realises he’s not alone, looks up at Ramsay with eyes as pale and watery as the sea.

A scuffed black collar is clasped around his throat, a silver chain hanging from it and fastened to a hook on the wall. His hand shakes as he lowers it, his right pinkie just a jagged red stump against the white streaks encrusted down his body.

A smile pulls at Ramsay’s lips, and he can feel his eyes light up as the world gets more interesting. ‘Who’s this?’ he asks, not looking away.

He feels the tense warmth of Malko behind him. ‘That? No one. He caused so much trouble we broke him. He just sits there now, waits for more.’

‘What were his name?’ Ramsay drops the papers onto the table.

‘It matter?’ Malko answers with a shrug in his voice. ‘Theo maybe? Or, yeah, some bullshit made-up name like he’s Kardashian: Theon? Grey-something. His father fucked with us over territory, won’t again.’

‘He’s pretty – a pretty little puppy.’ Ramsay looks down at the shrivelled, ringed cock tinged blue between bare thighs. ‘Needs a few more…’ he waves a hand in the air, ‘ _modifications_. What the fuck it need a dick for? So many fingers? A _tongue?_ Who’s it gonna fuck? What’s it gonna do? What’s it gonna _say_?’

Malko tosses the yellowed towel onto the desk. ‘It’s useful. Drinks our piss down good, saves going to the lav.’

Ramsay hums in his throat, smile growing. ‘He, like, take it well? Getting bred?’

‘Takes a dick, a _fist_ , whatever you want. He’ll cost though. He’s gone off the grid, declared dead. You can do whatever you want to him. No one’ll ever ask where he went when you’re through.’

‘Twenty grand?’ he turns and says to Malko. ‘I’ll have my boy Damon drop it off tomorrow. Cash. You know I’m good for it, the number of skanks I’ve bought off ya; the amount of business me dad’s sent your way; the rivals we’ve… disposed of, for ya.’

Malko harrumphs, but says, ‘You can take him with you. He’s too easy for us now.’

Ramsay looks down at the hunched figure, grins like a shark might at the first scent of blood in the water. ‘You always did lack imagination, Malko. Sport is what you make it.’

‘Whatevs. I got tings to take care of. You got him?’ Malko unlocks the padlock holding the chain to the wall, lets it clatter to the ground, before grabbing a knife and heading out the door. Not nearly as nice a knife as the one waiting in Ramsay’s car for his new guest.

‘Yeah, I’ve got him.’ Ramsay says, turning back. The shadow masquerading as a man looks down at the stained floor, eyelashes clumped together.

Ramsay shoves the steel bowl of water on the floor out of his way, slips off his leather jacket and places it around cold, bony shoulders. The hunched figure pauses on all fours as Ramsay drags it up and his fast-swelling dick twitches. He adjusts himself, pulls the figure to its feet where it sways.

‘I’m not allowed to – not meant to – they’ll be angry and –’

‘ _Shhh_ , pet,’ Ramsay says, as he arranges the collar of his jacket around a bruised throat. ‘You have a new master now.’ He leans close, so close he can feel the icy pale body shaking. ‘And I’m gonna stop it hurting.’ He lowers his voice, affecting his most cajoling tone. As though talking to a child. To a fawn about to bolt. ‘You’d like that wun’t ya? I’ll make you love me so much you’ll never want to get away, make it feel so good you won’t even feel the pain. You want that, don’t you?’

‘Yes – yes, s–sir.’ The hushed, scratchy voice brushes against Ramsay’s lips and he grins. Grins even as the stench hits him, of stale sweat and festering wounds.

‘You fucking reek. Reek!’ Ramsay opens his arms wide with a step back and the ghost-like thing pulls the jacket around himself. ‘That suit you. Do you like that, pet? What’s your pretty new name?’

‘My-my name?’

‘What did I say?’’ Grabbing the bruised throat, Ramsay pushes up against the stubbled chin, the collar rough under his palm.

‘ _Reek_ ,’ he sputters, chest heaving, ‘my–my name’s Reek.’

Ramsay smiles wide, winds the chain hanging down the enticing torso around his hand. ‘Good boy.’

Putting his arm around skinny shoulders he leads Reek out, past the screams and splash of crimson. And, scarred feet bare, Reek stumbles into the freezing dark outside, ice on the ground and icy stars overhead.

‘We’re going home now. Your last home. Things will be better, I promise.’ And Ramsay grins as Reek curls up on the shiny black leather of the backseat, while he starts the engine and pulls away.

It wasn’t quite the same as being out on the moors, with his hounds, when his last bitch had become tiresome. But, still, today was a good hunt.

**_ The End_**


End file.
